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Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.

Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.

Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.

Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water –--
deep gulps, infinite sips.

Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.

Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.

Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.

Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.

Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat your thoughts.

Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
      shelf
to the end of time.

Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
      how to make
grandma's sauce.

Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Sid Lollan Aug 2017
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

(Authors of (obligatory)
Redemption: what is true genius if it ain’t dead yet?
Let you, who **** it, not be present for its resurrection.)

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

i had a nightmare:

i opened the door of my ranch-house in the boonies of
southern pa.
out-into the grasses of the old Congo;
There stood the Lion.
20 feet away
i, frozen in the magnitude of his vision;
spirit, dominated by his
completely;
Not even a growl.
i remained
paralyzed—he licked the backs of his paws
and combed a wiry mane...
…a halfa-second was a year if it was a halfa-second now...
but
somewhere in there
i regained my legs and without knowing
pivoted,
grabbed the doorknob. Twist. Open. Step inside.
turn to close the...doorway is gone, the house has vanished
And
HE WAS RIGHT ON TOP OF ME

i was nothing but-a body of plastic fear
molten,
melted and cast into mannequin limbs and head.
i could feel the Lion’s entire, real
spirit crushing spirt
on my hollow caste self.

his breathe stunk of blood that
forced my replicaego into infant curl…
…Finally, the beast roared a canyon
i shivered!
a shiver that shook inside my head
thru the spine to shake
my bones inside the bed.

Thru the constricting red curtain of bloodclot eye
spy the tiny eclipse
of the Black Crow inna massive sheet of african sun;
i must be dead already.
The Lion feels the Crow perched onna cape fig nearby
and his muscles tighten accordingly, his beastly hunger
displaced by boiled-blood anger.

Eye-to-Eye
with the beast
where Fear has reached saturation-point;
it is Nothing if it is Everything…
…the Crow lets out a hiss
like spikes of radio-static, interrupted by series
of whooping-caws…
…stomach vibrated by the Lion’s low,
almost internal growl. For the
first time, his tranquilizing orbs
divert from mine
to capture the Black Crow perched on the dying cape fig.
uncertainty taps my shoulder…then…i feel my body;
the weight releases
and as i motion to rise from the grass and dirt, the Congo dissolves and i’m
sitting up on my mattress with broken springs in the humid
summer slumber of southern pa.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

-What security?
programmed,
under deep-cover;
jungian re-uploads. Them. Resurrected witha blackmarket
medicine a Witch Doctor devolution;
Replicate, regenerate, forever
<01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100111 01110010 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100>
Bottom feeding grave robbers and tomb vandals are all they are!-

-Better check what ya put down here…liable to shape a ghoul,
and you know this haunt is made-up of enough spooks-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Professors of chaos preach:
O wanderers!
write me the manifesto
walking atop a line of hot coals
-I smell me some burning soles-

(They intend to:
Pour, pure from cold-clear spring-spout
      into muddy-brown-clay, dissolved,
rushing against dried-up bones of gully-walls…
…the Crow just sits above
         and laughs there

Don’t ya see it?)

History
is not about the past,
but
about what the present
can mold the past
into
for the future.
-the marble’s trajectory sure to
flip onnit’s axis d’pending on which record you dig-

(One mistake
can a coward make
or
one accident happen
up-on that a martyr stake’d.
etched in the rut of each separate fate;)


The lion
must roar for his P R I D E
        (or?)
lion wears his hide
as a mascot
Black Crow eats crow egg blues
        black crow spotted me yellow in the bushes
pants down, gun-in-hand
-send your prayers-

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Blessed ovia Jan 2019
Out of concern I write.
Don't judge if am wrong or right.
Fundamentally, it is my right,
To address an I'll that is becoming a rite.

Many  swell like foam,
Being pumped to boom
By needle or rather *****
But in reality that are just but fume.

Peer pressure is  powerful  witch.
But can only enchant you if you wish.
We are empowered to be the wizards of our life,
To make freewill choices devoid of strife.

Aunty, getting slim tea is now slim.
Brother, guys are sleeping in the gym.
Boss, your colleagues are booking for liposuction.
I still wonder why you guys are rushing liposyn injection.

Ladies with Bees made of silicon
Counting themselves among the slaying lexicon,
In negligence of the pains to reckon,
They do whatever it takes to be a beauty icon.

Smokers are liable to die young.
You ignores it as if it's written in ching-chong
Liposyn users are liable to kidney failure,
You ignore to prove your velour.

You are made from the best kit.
Don't risk it all for a ****.
Stop thinking anticlockwise.
A word is enough for the wise.

Blessedinkz
This poem is to correct the orientation of those battling low self esteem and peer pressure. Many has opted to the option of bleaching their skin, taking intravenous injections to get fat, going for surgeries to get fake ****'s and *****, etc. And the literal society is pretending to be blind to some of this critical issues that matter.
Lately I've been on this app called 'let go'. It's an app where people in your area sell their things. It's for people to sell stuff for drug money or simply just get rid of **** they don't want anymore.

By the way the stuff for sale may or may not be stolen. But once you make a transaction with physical money then I think legally it isn't considered stolen anymore and you're 100% not liable from that point on...



I believe that I use this app better than anyone else. I have tapped into the hidden potential of 'let go'. I'm not using this app to find a gently used item for a reasonable price. No.

What the hell am I going to do with your prom dress that your fat *** can't fit into anymore? A used kitchen table is a dime a dozen, ok? I already have a VHS camcorder. The last thing I need is your great grandpa's signed edition of mein kampf. The new century edition is 10 times better anyway.

So here's my secret to 'let go'....



While people look for deals on crap they really don't need, I look for love. What you need to do is find a middle aged lady selling men's clothes. That is usually a sign of dead husband or recent divorce. Either one is good news to you. I mean, getting womans' numbers have never been so easy. Say you have an interest in buying, skip the negotiating and romance her Jack. It's that simple.

Another good technique is to find a woman around her mid 30's selling furniture that is from the 1980s or before. The time period of the furniture has to be before a time where interracial dating was considered cool. The more racist looking the furniture is, the better. This one has worked for me a couple times so feel free to use it. You call the girl up the next day and tell her, 'hi I hope this isn't weird, but you know what, I really felt like we had a connection yesterday. You know, when you were selling me your recently deceased grandma's couch. I can tell she was a good grandma by how clean she kept her bigoted loveseat'. It's a timetested icebreaker.

Stop wasting your time on dating apps. Stop filling out surveys asking you if you like animals, or cried during 'remember the titans', or if you like to travel.

Take advantage of emotionally fragile people trying to make a quick buck.

'Let Go' people....it's easy and it's free.
Ismahanwrites Jul 2018
alcohol effects on the body

1: it can change the mood and behavior
you say you are leaving the house angry spitting blood
on floor your eyes are red as trantula and you say we are too much but we are not asking  for anything
the maids are running for their lives leaving the house  because of you of your behaviors you dont care about these crimes these charges are  you? oh wait your are intoxicated

2: High blood pressure  
you replaced your morning pills your whole entire morning routine straight off you go to bar shoeless wearing the same t shirt of last week

3:Heavy drinking takes a toll on the liver
you come back your eyes are red as trantula as if you were crying you are in hurry again you are asking for food the floor is covered with spits blood spits

4:Chronic drinkers are more liable
to contract diseases like pneumonia

i wish he could
i wish he could just stop killing himself
dear dad i hope you stop this behavior
Look there, there a full moon hanging above a lousy *******.
And your moans go unnoticed like boring movie scenes.
Kamasutra your name you say? Well, I just assumed you were not that at all.
I see you more spilled cold coffee looking on enviously at tea leaves holding a straight *** conversation in a purple rain teepee.
Somewhere beneath a bed of stars and a sliver skyline falling in free form with a tribe of features, floating down no matter the weather, but to where?
Who knows? But I did notice my mind take the scenic route.
So I take chances and flip a coin, *** up heads down
I beat the odds and win, but what?
Who knows? But moving on right pass the earth’s after birth
and on to the next one, on to the next one
On to the blueprint to why freedom never rings it just sings
In a monotone *** position of undressed flesh
and out of the reach of our dumbfound imagination,
and our hearts that are broke like a lack of money and barely beating,
and our breath that is filled with smoke and barely breathing.
Like chronic asthma in a bent over backward dream taking it up the, who knows?
But I Do like wearing lipstick and catching ****** needs off guard,
as ******* take a life of it’s on. Doing it with or without me
I use to being *******. I grew up in a broken home, America where u at?
With your newly hidden slavery the same thing just different cotton.
They assign jobs to us our children to the state we live to work not work to live.
We do the same thing but make different mistakes.
And two days is not enough to recover from five, this **** is a disgrace
Oh beautiful for spacious skies, where at, who knows?
What I am trying to tell you is heaven has basic desires and a low self-esteem.
Just ask Natureboy the Christ, no ask him can he swim on land since he can walk on the sea.
and what I said got some of you bothered feeling some kind of way
But what would Jesus say if he was here? Forgive her father she knows not what she says.
Maybe Jesus is wrong I know exactly what I do. I am a pusher to this poem.
I will make it snort a ******* line that exactly what I would do.
Burn pictures on the conscious mind fire’s awake now making something better out of itself.
Just like a group of words, no one never thought about grouping together. No, really I don’t know when too much is too much, so I am liable to say things like does God like his face? Then why
doesn’t he show it
Would we judge him bully him if we saw it? Holy ****** baby feet Batman I can’t trust the alphabet or vegetables
This unsustainable way of living and that the government did not take part in those special fireworks done on
9/11. Body parts everywhere and since some time has passed I want to know does anyone care?
But who am I? But a beast in smallness with a mean left hook and have the things the world believe in
Really got me shook. I cannot walk around with the believes and definitions that are not mine.
My beliefs don’t weigh anything so I am not weighed down mentally or emotionally
I listen to the language of the earth because all the other languages are brittle
Nature all about cooperation, taking the good with the bad, and that's fine but you know what is not?
It is how religion aggravates me. I know you believe in God but does he believe in you?
No, because if he did he wouldn’t test you and still you are unable to see the acceptance you seek really come from you.
The Illuminati taught me that, but you know what is really truly interesting?
It is how Hall and Oats is white and of course angel ****.
And again I need to be careful what I say because I will have folks looking at me in the wrong way.
Wishing I would die and burn in heaven, well luckily for them I stay suicidal and I thought up about nine and eleven
Ways I can end it tonight. In death, my mind would be gone and that’s alright.
I will still create frighten poems. I will make my ghost write.
But as we all know dying is not an option and as we can see no fear just caution.
And I stay humble all day every day because I was told having too much pride that is for those who are gay, and happy I am not. I want to see the government put to a stop
A world with no freaking cops, the elite on the bottom and the less fortunate on top.
And my most random camouflaged thoughts open up the eyes of the senile so that they can see now.
What they could not.
A Spoken Word Piece With A Lot Of Passion and Random Thoughts Link Together.
Preeti Verma Oct 2019
Would it be eaiser to let him go?

Would it hurt less from far away?

I think about leaving

But thinking is the only thing I do

Never knew deep friendship would hurt too

He hurts me, unaware, unknowingly

Perhaps it’s the ‘more’ which kills me daily

Sometimes I cry late at night

Thinking about all the things right

Shouldn’t it have been enough?

Everyday I try to be a little more tough

But he has this talent to make it all none

Crumbling me into pieces seen by noone

Don’t blame him for my sufferings

He is not liable for all these happenings

One never falls for someone by choice

It’s only according to the will of joice

He just fell for someone else

I have no more to speak for myself….
3 a.m. thoughts (old collection)
Five years on

Paradise shines through the eyes in the lines
of the young men who are old men,
the daily grind men,
the five to five men who
wait silently for the stores to close and go rabidly
through what they chose to throw
away.

Don't tell me dead men do not smell,
they stink to high heaven steeped in hell.

At this riptide by the wayside where frightened rabbits hide,
where the living died and the dead reside there's the feeling that the politicians lied,
they're not Romans come to conquer us, they're the vagabonds and detritus, the throw away of which they glean each day becoming cannibal, it's a carnival but there's no clowns.
and we laugh at them while looking down on them,
not seeing through them to the young men who are old men,
when did dreams expire?
when did we become the higher echelon?

It could be you there,would you then care and who would give a **** for the fallen man?
when the open can is the bible and the ten pound wrap is the new age trap who'll be liable and when you hit the street conversing with concrete they'll think you're mental
.
Sometimes I've been in the lines and I've seen paradise,
seen it shine in the moonlight when the 'hit'***** me right,
lived and died, stunk as well and to me
paradise is just the same as hell.
( five to five men )
the twenty four hour men
the men you don't see
and never want to be. js 2019
muteD Sep 2019
I wish I wasn’t me.
years ago when my sister passed,
I wished it was me.
young and ignorant to the ways of the world.
young yet already wishing to be dead.
I wonder if wanting these thoughts to escape my head
is selfish..
If I believe ‘everything happens for a reason’,
then there has to be a reason.
but the truth is
I really don’t know what I believe in.
if I were to die
I don’t know if my soul would
Sink or Swim
even though
I can’t Swim
and with the world on my shoulders
I’m liable to Sink.

Uncomfortable.
Always moving,
always trying to find
the perfect place.
My Utopia..
Does that that make sense?
Does it exist
in somewhere other than my head?
Is there a world out there
where I don’t end up dead?
A reality where these thoughts
don’t eat away at me like
moths at cloths.
I have ten years worth of holes in me.
Everything I hold in just eats away at me
and I let it.

My Utopia.
What would it be like?
Dark
because that’s where I prefer to be
and quiet
because silence never hurt anybody.
it never hurt me.
a place for me is a place
where I don’t have to hide.
my thoughts
my feelings
my pain.
a place where there’s
always an ear to truly listen.
One that understands without me needing to explain.
If only there was a way I could talk
without my words being swatted down like flies.
I want to not feel alone
for once.
I want to be alone
and not feel alone.
I want to be okay with my own presence.
My own company.
I want My Candle of Loneliness
to be put out before
I am engulfed in the flames.
My Utopia is a place,
a place with no pain.
Written: August 28th, 2019

— The End —